


Boulangerie Antique - Blood Cakes

by DaliahSilva



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Antique Bakery (Live Action Movie) Fusion, Baking, Cannibalism, Child Murder, Cooking, Dubious Concent, Explicit Sexual Content, Food Kink, Hannibal (TV) References, I Am An Epic Slow Writer- You Have Been Warned, Implied Underage Torture, M/M, Manipulation, Murder, Non-Consent Cannibalism, Seduction, Swearing, This Is Not As All Dark As The Tags Seem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 13:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14832786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaliahSilva/pseuds/DaliahSilva
Summary: Will Graham is a Special Agent for the FBI, and haunted day after day, night after night, by the vision of the girl he could not save. His next case he is determined to solve, even at the risk of his sanity. The kidnapping, and subsequent torture and murder of young boys.His best bet to save these boys and put to peace his torment, is to go undercover at a bakery. But after being fired from numerous bakeries due to his antisocial manner and neurosis, he is starting to lose hope.In comes chef, owner, and manager of the prestige 'Boulangerie Antique'.Hannibal Lecter. A man with a dark past and hidden secrets of his own.Will has to hide his true purpose, find his killer, and deal with the overwhelming feelings that Hannibal is stroking inside of him. Hannibal however, simply wants to know if Will is that missing piece he has been yearning for.Welcome to the Antique Bakery.Cake anyone?





	Boulangerie Antique - Blood Cakes

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my second Hannigram piece of work. I was working on my previous work, but I recently re-watched 'Antique Bakery' a South Korean Live Action Drama film, and inspiration struck, and I ended up writing a whole base plot for this fusion in the space of one hour. I hope you all like it. 
> 
> Feedback is my food for writing so please comment. I'm open to all comments but trolls I will not tolerate. 
> 
> The French used is from an old French dictionary and Google Translate. Have pity on me lol.

 

“ _CAKE! Everybody loves cake! Cakes have layers” Donkey, Shrek (2001)_

 

Hannibal sits on a stool at the island of a large chrome and wood kitchen. It is large. Even larger than the kitchen at the orphanage of the once Lecter Manor. He is a silent solemn teenager.

They all say so. Even in front of him. Stupid people.

They think just because he has been falsely deemed mute, he is deaf as well. But he hears quite well. If he were to bother, he would tell his aunt and uncle about the whispers and lowered voices of the maids and servants. They are loyal, but they are also thieving, and gossiping. They ignore him for the most part, which is fine by him.

Living in Paris now, there are always things here to keep his interest. But having gone through before the pangs and gnawing pains of true starvation, it would seem natural that Hannibal gravitate towards the house kitchen. The place where food is always present. Cooking, but the art of choreographic dance done beautifully by the chef as he goes about his culinary brilliance. The kitchen always calms him, so bright and clean, the smells teasing his olfactory senses. The atmosphere so different from the dark echoes of Hannibal's past that still torment him in the back of his mind.

The chef is a pure Frenchman. His accent still thick, though Hannibal can always understand him well enough. The Frenchman's name is Luc, and he has always been accepting of Hannibal. Joyfully delighting in Hannibal's enjoyment of the food he cooks, and realising his attentiveness and intelligence in observing him. Chef Luc soon starts to spend more and more time explaining every little skill and tool he uses to the boy, letting him assist him more and more. The boy clearly has talent and flair, and that certain little spark that is in all of the best chef's. The ability to turn bits and pieces of ingredients into imaginative and beautiful art. Still, even though food is his one passion, Chef Luc can't help but feel a rush of joy when Hannibal gets a skill right, and rewards Luc with a small smile.

He looks at the boy now all attentive eyed.

“The key, _mon petite_ , is to never rush when making _le gateau_. You must mix it with the courtesy, _le soin_ , it deserves.” Chef Luc speaks in simple broken French for the boy.

Hannibal looks at the mixture as the chef mixes it with a steady hand.

“Now Hannibal,” the chef's tone is serious now, and Hannibal tears his eyes off the bowl to look at Luc solemnly. “If you are to remember anything about _le gateau_ , you remember this: It is not just a piece of sweet. _Oh non non non_. It is happiness. _Le grand bonheur_. All differing _petite i_ _ngrédients_ coming together to your own _conception_. Your own design. It can be life. _Le vie_. And it is up to you _mon petite,_ as to how you wish to show the world your _recit_ , your story, your perfection.”

Luc then holds the bowl and spoon out to Hannibal. “Here, _stable maintenant_.” Hannibal takes the bowl and skilfully, and with wide circles, continues to mix the creamy mixture, closing his eyes subconsciously, and inhaling the vanilla essence wafting gently from the bowl. Luc, who has started to grate pieces of fresh coconut to add, is distracted by the simple childlike pleasure on Hannibal's face, and accidentally slices a bit of the tip of his middle finger on the sharp metal. He doesn't notice until after he has swept the grated coconut into the bowl and sees the bright red on his skin.

“ _Ahhh! pardon et moi Hannibal!_ ” Luc exclaims, immediately closing his fist and walking to the other side of the kitchen in search of the medical supplies. “Keep mixing, _mon petite_.” he says, waving his other hand in encouragement to Hannibal while he doctors himself.

Hannibal, who has stopped in instinct to the chef's first exclamation, looks down at the bowl again and is about to continue, when he spots a flash of crimson in the slightly yellowed cream mix.

Blood.

Slightly stained in the coconut and now sinking slowly into the thickened mixture.

Hannibal pauses for a moment. Then smiles. He understands the chef now. Cake can indeed be life, and what is better than your own heart blood? He mixes the bloodied coconut in without another thought.

Later that night at the dinner table, Hannibal sits silently with his aunt and uncle who are having a conversation about some other important Parisian aristocrat. However, he looks up at the smell of sugar and flour, and watches as the cake that Hannibal and Chef Luc had made that morning is brought out by one of the servants, and elegantly plated before them. Hannibal takes a moment to sniff the dessert, eyes closed, his mind flashing back to colours of cream and red, and he eagerly, but no less politely, uses his fork to part a piece off his slice and pop it into his mouth, chewing. He hums happily, and can't stop the murmured word from escaping his mouth, “Yum.”

His aunt and uncle stop speaking immediately and look at their worrisome nephew, now showing a happy contented smile on his face as he eats his cake.

It was the first time he had ever spoken a word in front of them.

 

*****

 

_Some years later....._

 

 

They say that when you are suspended in the moment, you are hyper aware of everything in the room. Will Graham can say for certain that that theory has some merit in it.

He is aware of everything around him. The house that he is standing in, which is a lovely bricked ranch house, which makes sense considering the acres of land of which the house is surrounded by, and the surrounding wood. It's much like his own place back in Wolf Trap, Virginia.

He wishes he were there now.

The front porch is stained by the body of a dead woman lying bloodied on the cement. Will saw her as he walked up to the house. He didn't need to check her pulse. Her dead blank eyes told him the truth of her predicament.

He is in the kitchen now. The kitchen is lovely too. Bright white and yellow, with light wooden cabinets and counter tops. Daylight shining beautifully through the white gauze curtains, making everything bright and sunny, but natural. It shows just enough clutter and empty and used dishes to make it seem homey and livable, but not messy or disorganised. Probably due to the now dead woman lying on the front porch. A half eaten cake sits on the kitchen island.

But the kitchen is not what holds Will's attention. It is the two figures standing next to the island in the centre. A man holding a young girl in his arms. A shiny silver hunting blade gleaming at her throat.

The man's eyes look manic. He is flaring his nostrils and breathing heavy, a partly bald head is reflecting the sun. He looks like he is. A hunter. A savage. A murderer who had murdered his wife, the dead lady on the porch. Who now holds his teenage daughter in his arms at knife point. He can see the girl is very pretty. Black ebony hair, snow white skin, and bright blue eyes of cerulean. But they look at him with pure petrified fear. They look at him like he is a saviour. 'Please save me' they say to him.

Will can feel the heaviness of the gun in his hand and the rough grip, smell the metal of it. His mind is like static. He is force breathing to make sure he gets enough oxygen in his lungs, but his breath still trembles all the same, loud and harsh. Will is hyper aware of everything. But he is also apart from it. The surrealism of the environment gives everything a shiny feeling. Like a photograph.

Will knows what he has to do.

The man's hand suddenly tightens on the knife handle.

Will flexes his grip on his gun.

Will knows this man. Has been in his head. Knows him more intimately than anyone ever could. But he still does something that will haunt him for years later.

He hesitates.

The man does what Will knew he would. He slits the girls throat with the hunting knife from ear to ear. Hot blood sprays outwards and Will can never forget the gurgle of a scream that comes from the girl as her body spasms in pain and starts to slump. The feel of the hot blood, metallic, and sticky as it lands on his face and specks his glasses.

Will catches a glimpse of the man's face, and it looks horrified.

But Will can't look, can't see. He remembers the jolt of the gun in his hand reverberating throughout his whole body as he pulls the trigger, even though he knows its fruitless, his saving grace has already spurted blood at him. But he can't see. He didn't see. That's why the girl will die.

He fires again and again and again into the man as his world goes white, red, and loud. The cake on the counter splats to the floor with a wet noise, swept off by the dying girls waving hands.

 

*****

 

Hannibal walks down the street path, happily humming _Goldberg's Variations_ under his breath. His shop is a bit more than a kilometre from his home, and he enjoys the short walk and exercise every morning. Breathing in the clear morning air, since filtered during the night from the sharp smells of active life the day before. He is confidant when he walks, sure of where he is going. His beloved patisserie. Rather large for a privately owned place. He finds great happiness and comfort in its wooden front, gleaming clean and elegant. Open windows with tasteful stain work show exquisiteness inside. To the side of the double door entrance shows a chrome display, empty right now of anything. There is a window above it that clearly opens up wide, set so customers have the opportunity to buy quickly whatever is displayed there at the store front, and move on. Hannibal knows each gift bought will be boxed carefully and decorated from a selection of beautiful ribbons hanging overhead. He glances up at the wooden sign hanging above the front doors, before unlocking them and allowing himself entry. The sign on the door in beautiful calligraphy says:

 

**_'B_ _OULANGERIE_ _A_ _NTIQUE_ ** _'_

' **Antique Bakery** '

 

 

Inside, the place has a mix of Baroque, Victorian, and a slight Parisian decor. Wooden walls and bookcases hold various antiques and paintings Hannibal has collected over the years, from the Bortecelli _Primavera_ artwork, to the large _Cafe at Night_ by Van Gough, while a samurai armour stands watch by the door. The double door entrance opens up to a tasteful wooden desk counter in the middle of an open space foyer, register on top. Clearly where customers are greeted. A smaller display is also set into the desk. Hannibal can see the organised set up and the quill and ink that only he uses, instead of pens. Behind the desk is a closed off room, heavy velvet curtains hid what could be behind the large rectangular windows. To the sides of the entryway are various platforms and two sets of stairs leading to second floor balcony's. The architecture and levels are planned perfectly, opening up the whole shop to allow room and air to breath, yet separated by shorter stair levels, short half walls, and shorter wooden railings beautifully carved, which separate various seating areas, and allow for the illusion of privacy if needed. The floor is grey veined and white marble, not wood. Easier to clean, though warmed nonetheless by Parisian rugs under the tables and chairs. A short hallway to the right next to the velvet curtained room, hold doors to the room itself, an office, a small staff/locker room, and another staircase which leads to the upper attic used for storage for various extra furniture and items. The whole shop feels opulent, elegant, and rich. Yet everything is designed so well that it still has a warm homey feel.

Hannibal takes off his coat and hangs it on the coat hanger near the front door. Underneath, he is in his chef uniform. Plain white jacket, black pants, black leather Italian loafers, and a deep blue satin cravat around his neck. He forgoes the usual chef hat most days. Hats hold head heat, and the sweated hair he received wearing one was both distasteful and uncomfortable. He heads straight to the hall that is the entryway, and to the closed off room.

Another double door entry, the room opens up to a bright white and silver metalled kitchen. The kitchen is huge, containing benches, various ovens, fridges, cupboards and pantries. There is also a door that leads to a cool room and below attic, and a large open shelving area spanning from floor to ceiling, housing various metal tins containing differing teas. The kitchen has open back windows and a French verandah door that shows a garden area which contains fresh herbs and some fresh grown fruit, as well as a compost heap and waste area. There is a small side road that leads down the side of the shop to the back there where some deliveries are dropped off.

Hannibal takes a deep breath and inhales the scents of clean metal and residual flour. This is his place. This is his design.

He sets about his work, taking out various ingredients for making the cakes for the morning. While moving around he opens up a top cabinet which contains a large TV and recorder. Though he has no taste for the outside blabbering of social media, the cooking channels do give him some good ideas now and again. He is even more delighted to switch on the device and hear the sultry tones of one of his oldest and dearest friends. A master chef in her own right, he lets her voice flow over him as he loses himself to his art, moving gracefully and purposefully. The TV focuses on the face of an elegant woman, her eyes holding the camera captive. Sitting delicately cross legged on a lush velvet seat before a fireplace. Her voice holds the audience captive.

“Can anyone be unhappy while eating cake? We have all craved cake in our most happiest of moments. Like instinct. Why is it so? Hello, I am Bedelia Du Maurier. We will conclude today with the delicate _Gateau Du Opera_.”

The screen shifts and the visual slowly spans over a decadent and rich looking chocolate layered cake. It looks simply sinful. Hannibal certainly thinks so, glancing up at the screen for a moment to behold its rich beauty before continuing in his prep work. Cracking the eggs and spreading the flour, adding sugar and vanilla. A simple butter cake to start as always, as he heads to the refrigerator to get the pure butter. With a calligraphic of the store name on top to put on the outside display.

The TV screen continues to show the making of the _Opera,_ and Bedelia's voice continues.

“People often turn away from it because of its ingredients; chocolate, butter, cream. Fattening yes, but a small price to pay for pleasure. A fragrant coconut flavour, rich ganache, all mixed with the savoury taste of almond powder. A perfect harmony of flavours is just like a great opera. Or perhaps, quite like the bitter sweetness of life.”

_Or death_ , Hannibal comments quite happily. Moving away he unlocks the door to the bottom attic. Its cool inside, and contains shelved racks of wine. It also contains other refrigerators and counters. Here, is where his ingredients for his savoury cakes and pastries are made, not wanting to mix the smell and flavours of them with the sweet treats above. Still, one would question the need for such a room, but Hannibal has never had to explain himself. His other and only employee, a delightful lady named Chiyoh, is aware of his sometimes unorthodox cooking and ingredients. Hear, see, and speak no evil. Nothing health risking or detrimental to a customers well being though. In fact, it is rather uplifting, and he has certainly heard no complaints about taste. Hannibal opens one fridge that contains jars and containers of a rich red liquid. Grabbing one after slight perusal he takes it upstairs. There he opens it and pours a small amount into his butter cake mixture, able to tell how much to use from years of practice. You would think this would turn the mixture reddish in colour, but it doesn't seem to. It instead makes the colour bolder if that is at all possible. Mixing it slowly he continues to listen to Bedelia, once more on screen. The camera slowly closing in on her face, then her pink full lips.

“Why don't you help yourself to a bit of life? But be careful. Once your hooked, all of your senses, and even your soul will never be able to forget that rich taste of perfection. It is a curious addiction. You will go to the ends of the world in search of those favours. They are no longer mere flavours, but more a lingering voice forever engraved in your mind. Do you still wish to try a slice?”

The program ends with the usual credits role. But Hannibal has since stopped paying attention. As he hears Chiyoh arrive in the store and her footsteps move towards the locker room, Hannibal pours his mixture into one of the many cake tins. Already having heated up one of the ovens to the right degrees, he carefully sets it inside and closes it with a gentle snap.

Chiyoh comes through the open doors and looks at him with her usual solemn blank look. Her face isn't rude or sorrowful. Merely regarding.

“You have a had a good morning.” her voice is gentle but strong, and a faint Japanese accent makes it slightly musical.

Hannibal gives her a close lipped wide smile.

“Yes. It has made me think.... we could use an extra hand in here.”

 

*****

 

Will Graham doesn't like Jack Crawford's office. Every time he finds himself sitting in here looking at its white walls, blue carpet floor, wood desk, and stark straight lines, he feels like a teenager once again in the principles office. Jack certainly has the stern, grim look to perfection. But he is here because he was once again fired from his job. Although to be honest, it _was_ an undercover position. His real job is as a Special Agent and sometimes lecturer with the Federal Bureau of Investigations, FBI, and Jack Crawford isn't the principle at a school, but rather an agent as well, and the FBI Head of the Behavioural Science Unit.

Even though he hated his past time there, Will would rather still be in school. He'd rather be studying Maths and pages long History prose, than murder. He glances to the right where a white board shows crime scene photos of the bodies of five dead children; all boys, all aged between 8 to 11 years old. The lone sixth boy doesn't have a fatality photo. Just permanent marker next to his school photo in bright capitals: 'MISSING – ONE WEEK!'.

Will looks back to Jack who had followed Will's glance and is now looking at the board with a irritated look. He wipes his hand over his face and turns back to Will, both elbows on the table, hands clasped. “You got fired again.” he states simply.

“Yep.” Will confirms blankly back.

“For bad customer service etiquette and behaviour, as well as unwillingness to engage in any manner of polite conversation or eye contact, as well as complete lack of ability in baking and/or cooking, and for that reason, a bakery had to again dismiss you under the clause of being not suitable for the job.”

“That pretty much sums it up.” Will wipes his face in weariness and rubs both sweaty hands on his thighs. Rub up. Rub down. Repeat.

“That was them being polite.” Jack's tone is dark. “This isn't funny Will. This is the seventh bakery you have been fired from. You are supposed to be undercover! What if word goes around and you can't be hired again?” Jack seems genuinely panicked, in a rage filled, gas about to blow type of way, his voice naturally booming without him even trying.

“Don't worry Jack,” Will says, and he tries to kill the sarcasm in his voice, he really does. “There are so many bloody bakeries everywhere I can't possibly be fired from all of them, for as long as it will take to solve this case. Besides, the little time I spend there I already glean all I need from the type of customers that come by. Nothing stood out.”

Jack slammed his fist on his desk in frustration. The gas had blown.

“Dammit Will! You said yourself the guy who does this most likely finds a bakery he likes, and sticks to it long term! How can you find that man if you never stay employed for longer than two weeks!”

Will does admit that there is logic to this argument. He has just never been comfortable around people. He hates looking people in the eyes, having them get into his head, being able to see and feel too much. He already knows he is pretty much an antisocial grumpy ass and irritable. He's simply not cut out for undercover work. His empathy, his neurosis, makes it highly improbable for him to get a positive outcome. Still, when Jack timidly suggested he be employed under the guise of having autism or aspergers, he felt genuinely affronted and insulted. Not about the mental affliction itself, but Will was just simply tired of people trying to box him in, and psychoanalyse him according to textbook analysis. Or worse yet, those who try _too_ hard to understand or 'treat' him. It is his unique ability to get into heads, reconstruct scenes, and see things in ways no one else is able to, that made him such a good crime solver and murderer finder. An FBI bloodhound. He is good at this. At least that's what he reminds himself at night when the nightmares arise.

Jack has obviously had enough of Will 's stoic silence, and instead goes back to the old flattering and reasoning ploy.

“It was _you_ that told us this man is different to the serial killer we were previously perusing, that was leaving no bodies. It was _you_ who looked into the report, ignored their burnt mouths, and focused on their stomach contents. It was _you_ that wanted to focus on the cake confirmed found in each boys stomach. It was _you_ that suggested he was rewarding their favour, which is why there are no real defensive wounds besides slight rope burn around the wrists. It was also _you_ that realised and convinced us that we would have the most luck finding him in the bakeries he was getting the cake from, which he is constantly feeding to these boys. This is _your_ plan Will!”

Will's voice is quiet, but sounds almost angry in passion in response. “Our original killer thought that his victims were pigs, and they were all adults besides. Not children which kinda says a lot in itself. The people he killed were rude and disruptive to society. I still say he is eating them, which is why we can't find any bodies.” He has a feeling their original killer will never be found. He is an intelligent psychopath, with no real motive besides the rather unpleasant people he murders. But this new killer. Will can find this one. He can save these children. He can finally put a stop to the nightmarish screams and echoing pleas for help in his head at night.

“I heard you Will,” Jack tries to sooth him, though his voice tone is about as soothing as a scourer on a sunburn. “That is why we are trying so hard to catch this guy. You said we can catch this one! He is different from the last. He leaves bodies!” Jack is subconsciously leaning forward in his desk closer to Will. Will can't help but lean forward in response and eagerness.

“He cherishes these boys,” Will explains, “They are discarded because they have disappointed him. They were not up to his grand design and vision. He needs the perfect one. For some reason, he tests them by putting something burning in their mouths. But he _poisons_ them after to kill them, he has sympathy for them....” Will stops and blinks “Or maybe..... someone else he is _with_ has. The bodies found were laid down with care, the burns tended.....motherly...” Will's voice is soft by the end, and he sits back in the chair.

“Another killer?” Jack's face is incredulous. “Is that what you are saying?”

“No,” Will shakes his head, his eyes tightly shut trying to see the image in his mind clearly, and when he continues his voice is slow, coming from a place far away. “He has an accomplice, or at least, another person who has an idea of what he is doing and is standing by watching him with these boys. They live with him. Most likely a woman or a smaller man. A submissive. Mother figure. They have empathy for these boys, they don't want them harmed, they love children...” Will's mind is going a hundred miles an hour trying to piece together the shattered ideals and points into a full glass image. A pendulum in his mind swings violently back and forth. When Will opens his eyes again, Jack's face is as grim and stern as ever.

“We have two serial killer's on the loose Will. One seems to have gone below, but this one, this one I _will not_ let slip away and continue to allude us. He is _killing children_ , and I know you of all people would want to save.....”

“DON'T,” Will's head jerks up, “Just don't Jack.” weariness crossing his face. He has never forgotten the one he didn't save. Her presence is in his thoughts, there in the back of his mind at every hour. It is because of her that he agreed to this in the first place. To go undercover and place himself in the middle to catch this recent killer of children. He doesn't need Jack to remind him of his failure. Jack isn't remorseful though, he stops his current point of argument out of respect, but he doesn't stop the argument altogether.

“You told me you can see things and see inside people in ways others don't. You can see this man or this now accomplice, before anyone could ever even consider them. You can observe them sitting, standing, walking, moving, behaving, and in what way and connect and know. You can picture it.”

“I have an active imagination.” Will comments blandly. It is an overused explanation, he knows.

Jack tilts his head up and the aura that pours out of him is that of resolution. “We _need_ your imagination Will.”

“I know.” Will sighs.

Jack gives a quick confirmed head nod. “Good. I have another interview for you in another bakery tomorrow in Maryland. Try and make this one work. It seems very promising. Its popular, classy, and very well received. You have an interview with the manager, chef, and owner.”

Wow, a privately owned classy bakery should be fun and cosy, Will moans sarcastically to himself.

“Make this one work Will. We can't let this continue, we need more answers.” Jack states as if it weren't already completely dire and apparent now after five dead boys. But Will knows when he is being dismissed. He clambers to his feet, takes the sheet of paper, containing the information about the bakery he is going to be interviewed for from Jack's outstretched hand, and makes his way out of the building and back home.

 

*****

 

Will has always loved his little piece of privacy. His home at Wolf Trap, Virginia. Here, he lives with his 5 dogs and acres of land. Sometimes at night, he will leave all the lights on in the house, walk out into the middle of the fields, and look back on it. From a distance his house looks like a boat out on the open sea. It is the only time in his life he feels completely at peace.

But he doesn’t do that tonight. Sitting on the porch, he holds a glass of whisky in one hand and pats one of his dogs Winston with the other, scratching at his silky ears. On his lap, being threatened to blow away with the night wind, is the information sheet he took from Jack. He already doesn't think this new place will work. In fact, he will be surprised if he even gets two minutes into the interview. The place is what his mechanic and rough and tumble father would call 'artsy fartsy crap'. The entire place, being open for only a few years, has already had nationwide success. The simple fact that it is still one small patisserie with no expansion, tells Will that the owner is a priss. Most likely controlling and obsessive over his little world. Either that, or a personal vendetta, a proof of worth Will adds taking another sip of his whisky. He lets the ice clink gently in his glass, the sound is gentle and calms him much like the tinkle of wind chimes. From the one photo of the store front, Will can tell this place will expect their employees to wear a uniform. But it's not like the place looks bad in Will's eyes, the wooden store front balancing on that precipice between classy and elegant, but welcoming and homey. It's just that it seems the type of place that a scruffy, eye avoiding, and rude man like Will would never bother to enter. He finishes off his whisky and stands, cracking his neck from side to side, and whistling for his dogs to follow him. They come inside with a ruffle of fur, wind, and earth, making a beeline straight towards their beds in the living room where a small fire still crackles in the fireplace.

Will glances towards the smart powder blue buttoned shirt and black slacks hanging on a hanger out of the way of the dogs. A plain dark blue tie has been flung over the wire hanger without care. His interview clothes for tomorrow, freshly cleaned and ironed. See Jack, Will thinks to him, I can look civil if I try.

Though most days, he simply doesn't try.

Much like the clear wire rimmed glasses he wears, his clothes and attitude is like armour. An outward shield against the people of the world, much like the forts and barriers he puts up in his mind.

Knowing he'll need at least a couple of hours of sleep to seem functional tomorrow. He changes into his sleeping t-shirt and boxers and climbs into bed. The bed is located in the living room close to his dogs. He has never really used the bedroom upstairs. He made this conscious decision when he first moved in, and although he can come up with many differing reasons to why he does this, the bottom line is it makes him feel safer.

That night his nightmares return as usual. Because of the case, it's images of the dead little boys calling out to him from the dark, smoking cake falling out of their open overfilled mouths, a shadowed figure behind them.

Will wakes up with a jolt of adrenaline and panic, his clothes and the part of the bed where he is lying on are drenched with sweat, his eyes manic as he looks straight to the end of the bed. Instead of his dogs on the other side however, he sees her.

The one he lost.

Dressed in the same clothes she had when she died, snow white skin, hair black as ebony. She floats at the end of his bed, staring down at him with white dead eyes, her throat slit and pouring bright red blood out to stream down her clothes. In her hands she holds out to him a pretty layered cake, perfectly fluffy looking with icing and cream. Will's already laboured breath begins to hyperventilate to his horror, as the perfect cake splits straight down the centre, and like a car crash, Will can't look away as brackish brown red blood oozes out of it. Then she speaks. Her voice gurgled and forced. “ _See_ ,” she hisses at him, “ _See....._.” But Will doesn't see. He can't any more, and with a cry of anguish deep, painful, and raw, both of his hands come up to clutch at his head. When he is finally brave enough to look up from them, she is gone. All he sees are his dogs looking at him with concern. Winston already moving towards the bed to his side to nudge at him with a wet nose.

Later, Will will pat his head as a comfort to both of them, then get up and find a new shirt to change into, and a towel to place on the bed where he has sweated. There, he will lie down again and try to go back to sleep. But not now.

Now. For a while. All he can do is sit there on his bed and let his body tremble, the night wind chill his already cold bones.

 

*****

 

Hannibal has already interviewed many recipients to the job offer he had tacked up to his store front a couple of weeks ago. So many eager faces. Some young potential hopefuls, and others, experienced older desirables. All confident, and wishing that he would pick them to work for him at the mysterious but wonderful _Antique_.

Chiyoh was against it. He wasn't surprised. Though she would never attempt to stop him from doing whatever he wanted, she definitely put up a good argument for the opposition side of the debate.

_Too risky. Too unnecessary. Why now?_

In the end she had relented of course, as she could clearly see how determined he was in the idea of all of a sudden hiring more help, and allowed herself to be consoled by him, in that the decision wasn't due to low performance on her part.

Which brought him to his current position. Sitting at one of his tables on the upper floors of _Antique_ , in one of his plaid suits. Oh, how people like to put on a mask and pretend other's don't know who they are. Hannibal does know. His own personal people suit is seamless. They can't trick him with masks and pretend, even the most genuine. He is a master puppeteer, even the very delicate of marionettes can never tell it is to his hands holding the strings that they prance and dance to. That is why he is the best. But Hannibal soon realises that he is looking for more. An individual with just that little bit of something else that could instead perhaps aid in his creations, and show Hannibal their own. However, it is soon becoming a lost cause. Hannibal knows that in a few days time he will find himself resigned into hiring either no one, or at the very least another simple minded waiter easily played to help Chiyoh.

They are getting rather busy as of late as the _Antique's_ reputation grows.

So you can understand his surprise when after thanking a young flirtatious waitress to coyly walk slowly down the stairs, glancing back at him as she goes, and send up the next interviewee, his heart gives a jolt at seeing a raw and rough man come up the stairs instead of another boring hopeful. Already, Hannibal could tell this one is different. For one, unlike the other dreary puppets who practically devour him with their greedy eyes, this one doesn't meet his eyes at all. Looking first at the floor as he walks up the stairs, then at the tables, then at this particular table, then at Hannibal's outreached hand welcoming on a handshake. The man's eyes never raise further than his chin the entire time. His hand shake is solid though, his fingers and palms rough, and his voice a pleasant alto on tone and pitch. This is heard through his murmured “Hello, thanks for interviewing me.” Hannibal gives a discreet long inhale, picking up the scent of dog, an awful cologne, and the scent of weariness and old whisky. Not a very appealing mix, but it has definitely pricked at Hannibal's curiosity. Why would such a young man want a job here?

Hannibal takes quick glance down at the resume in front of him before addressing the man.

“Hello. My name is Hannibal Lecter. I am this stores owner, manager, and main chef. According to your resume your name is..... William Graham.”

“Will.” The scruffy man interludes. A tiny bit rude, but Hannibal can tell the response is automatic, and from a lifetime of correcting. He gives a small smile instead and inclines his head slightly.

“Will then. It is a pleasure to meet you, and thank you for coming to this interview for the _Boulangerie Antique_.” Hannibal takes in Will's manner. His hands slightly twitching where they rest on his thighs, his eyes still lowered, and if he is not mistaken the shadows under said lowered eyes clearly states that the man before him, this Will, did not sleep well last night.

Or for quite a few nights, Hannibal surmises.

“So why have you come to this interview today Will? Why is it that you wish to work for me?”

A question asked of him many a time in the last couple of months. Will knows his answer off by heart. The stated and assumed realisation that he wished for a new career, and has always had a hidden desire for the baking business. However, ever since he walked up the steps his anxiety has tripled. Even only looking at the man's paisley tie and plaid suit, not a chef's jacket and uniform as he had assumed he'd wear. He feels overwhelmed by this obviously rich and put together older man. Through peripheral vision he can make out golden honey hair slightly greying, high cheekbones and slight sleepy looking eyes. Too unusual to be considered classically handsome but alluring, definitely. His face seems pleasant, but fake. A perfect mask, more perfect and genuine than any other before Will has to give credit, but a mask nonetheless. He wonders what a man like this has to hide.

Probably sordid sexual hobbies, and Will is quick to catch himself from making his knee jerk sarcastic face from that thought. Too late however, he realises that time has passed and Hannibal has raised his eyebrows waiting for an answer to his question. In a rush to salvage what Will already knows is a lost cause right at the beginning, he steels himself to push through this interview, and in his push gives an answer both practised and truthful.

“I have always been interested in working at a place like this. My father was a mechanic and didn't really think this type of job is appropriate. But I've always liked the smells and the feel of it. Even though I have no real practical experience I'm smart, and I can learn. I know people and what their tastes are, and I think I can contribute.” Will stops talking on a choke, throat sealing up right after adding a strong flung out there “I need this job.”

Hannibal blinks, the only reaction to Will's response. He can taste the mixture of practised prose and tendrils of real truth. He knows he is not fooling anyone, Hannibal muses. Looking down at past experiences, he sees clear evidence of past work at numerous previous bakeries and the short time worked there. Most likely he was hired out of pity, Hannibal thinks, and that strange neurotic and mysterious draw Will's aura has, that makes one feel that even though he is not looking at you, but he can see right into your soul. It probably makes most people feel anxious and unsettled. But not Hannibal. He is intrigued by this scruffy individual. A little flicker comes to life from inside of his memory palace, where all is stored. He can't look at it right now but he is aware for later consideration. Though most of what Will has spoken to him reeks as stereotypical, the last resonates. The part about knowing people and their tastes and needing this job, rings of truth. Will does seem to need this job, but not for the want of a past childhood desire long denied.

“I can see your past job experiences working. So you have some slight experiences working in customer service. Can I ask what happened with those other patisserie's? Why were you let go?”

Will sighed. He hated explaining this part. In an interview it always seems like they were asking him why he wasn't good enough, coupled with an undertone of 'Then why the hell should I employ you?'. But the smooth baritone of his potential boss's voice indicated only genuine curiosity. That's a first.

“I didn't fit in there.”

Hannibal gives an amusing smile at the clear understatement. “And you think you will be better suited here?”

Will can hear the faint laughter and lilt in the words, and doesn't know if its because of his many past experiences of failure, or the fact that as Will has already deduced, he isn't the most potential filled candidate at first glance, even with his shirt and pants. Probably both.

“I'm hoping I am. That's why I'm here.” he replies.

“Of course.”

Will notes that Hannibal Lecter's tone hasn't been mocking. Soft, calm, and neutral. Will finds it eases him despite himself.

So maybe not a mask.

“Do you have any experience cooking or preparing meals?”

Will tries to salvage a little pride. “I've cooked for myself since I was young. I can make simple foods well enough, and even made a cake once.” He stops. He could kick himself. He started good, and then off goes the stupidest possible comment you could make when applying for a job at a cake store. Will can't hide his wince.

Hannibal smiles at the slip. “A note worthy feat.” There is clearly something about Will, something more he is not telling. Every professional bone in his body should say to end this interview right here, as Will clearly has no proper passion for this position nor is he even remotely qualified, despite his previous employments. But something has snagged on Hannibal's interest. He regards the brown curly head of William Graham and feels the overwhelming desire to know just how far he can reach into him?

Will however, is simply hoping that the man would have his fun and end the interview already. He starts and almost looks up from his gaze on the table before him at the next question he is asked.

“You mentioned that you know people and what their tastes are. Can you elaborate on your statement for me please?” Hannibal sits back and enjoys the startled but disgruntled look that crosses Will's face.

“It's hard to explain.” Will finally answers drily, tentatively, still looking down.

“Please try,” Hannibal encourages softly, “Is it a gut feeling? Or perhaps an intimate observation of an individual? The ability to match the probability of what particular flavour cake they like to them? Or is it simply that you have been to so many differing bakeries, and served so many customers now, that their choices are drearily boring and predictable to you now as breathing?”

Will gives a short huff of laughter at the last, a genuine wide smile suddenly crossing his face. Hannibal can't help but chuckle a little in return. “No”, Will replies “Nothing so mathematical as all that. I suppose you could call it a gut feeling in a way, and observation certainly has something to do with it.”

Hannibal regards him with a continued calm, easy manner. “Go on.”

Will swallows and answers truthfully “I suppose it is the only talent I have. I can tell by each look, behaviour, and manner what they might want. I get it wrong sometimes of course, but its easy to put yourself into their minds and think. This woman has that pinched look of someone who wants a healthy alternative. Or that man secretly wants something that looks manly but tastes sweet. Or that businessman clearly wants something that looks professional and tastes light and clean.” Will shrugs. “It's a nice party trick.”

Now this answer is completely true, Hannibal thinks.

“It sounds as if you have pure empathy, the ability to put yourself into the mind frame of anyone and assume their point of view, or even mine perhaps. Perfect perception and imagination.”

Will looks up then, eyebrows furrowed together. Even with him focusing on his glasses Hannibal can see perfectly the turmoil Will is feeling inside at someone who has seen past his rough forts, and clearly understands that his ability is more than just a 'party trick' combined with good observational skills.

Hannibal notes that Will's eyes are a perfect ocean blue, cloudy just a little bit from the indoor light with stormy grey. Beautiful in its own right, but it is that something else deeper inside that calls out to Hannibal. Is this what Hannibal was looking for? Maybe Hannibal has found what could be a diamond in the rough.

Now he has to test it.

Will is still shocked at how such a man, a complete stranger and bakery owner could pin point his neurosis as close as anyone ever has. This man is more than just a patisserie owner that's for sure, Will's first impression must be correct. But Will needs this job. He needs to be able to catch his boy serial killer.

“I doubt it's anything as flamboyant as that. I'm simply good at guessing a persons tastes, kinda like a fashion designer guessing more or less correctly the size of a model by look alone.” Will is proud of how steady and mellow his voice sounds, considering his emotions are currently churning uncomfortably in his stomach.

Hannibal's eyes flicker up and down Will's face. “Are you saying you can feel taste Will?”

“My thoughts are often not _tasty_ when people....customers.... are concerned.” Will replies evenly.

“Nor mine.” Hannibal adds with a knowing smile. Will's lips quick upwards.

The feeling of the interview has gone lighter in atmosphere at the last banter. The next few questions are simple and customary, concerning Will's practical skills, experience, and various scenario's and behaviours in dealing with customers and issues at a bakery. Though Will answers all of them as best as possible, with every question that goes by, and every scenario Hannibal asks of him, it is clear that Will is not at all suitable for this job. Hannibal though, is not bothered by Will's answers to the standard questions, and is instead curious at what will happen if he pushes Will just that little bit more.... that little bit more. He regards Will's dejected form, obviously waiting for his dismissal and customary 'thank you for your time'.

“Not fond of eye contact are you Will?”

Again not expecting such a question asked so directly, Will can't help but immediately throw all of his practised professionalism out the window, and answer again truthfully. His voice his usual perfect combination of mellow derision and sarcasm.

“Eyes are distracting. See too much, don't see enough,” he looks up at Hannibal and squints at him as if he is looking for a speck on his face, “And it's hard to focus when you're thinking, um, 'Are those white's really white?', or, 'He must have hepatitis', or, 'Is that a burst vein?,” so yeah, I avoid eyes whenever possible.”

And there is Will's sarcasm face. The professionalism impression was good while it lasted.

Hannibal however, feels delighted by this answer, as if someone has given him pure gold.

“I imagine coupled with your 'party trick' what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present but shocked at your associations, your sudden understanding of the story of the people in front of you, appalled at what you can understand, but what would normally scare most other's and even you sometimes. There is no protection inside the bone area of your skull for your own thoughts and feelings. Your own opinions.”

Will feels like someone has just sucker punched him. “Wha...?!?' he breathes low.

Hannibal's face is a statue and his eyes look straight at him unflinching. It's that look that finally does it for Will. He has never been good with people trying to pry at him, and this man for some reason, is definitely trying to pry at him.

“Please don't think that after a few customary questions you can understand me and place me in a little labelled box. I doubt baking cake for people has anything to do with what a person's true thoughts are.”

Will's fucked it.

But Hannibal's smile is small and holds all the amusement he feels at Will's prickly reaction.

“Never underestimate the power a piece of cake can do to a person's happiness, Will. It can represent many an emotion, and in saying so, one can consume that emotion and all the representation that piece of life can hold.”

Will has absolutely nothing to say to that. His face stoic.

Hannibal gives another huff of laughter. “I apologise if I have offended you by my comments Will, but I have not in a long time spoken to an individual such as yourself. I think it would be quite something to know you in private life.”

Now Will has definitely had enough.

“I think this interview is done.” Will says, standing abruptly and holding out his hand. Hannibal can see the banging of steel fort doors slamming shut in Will's mind, in his face. “Thank you very much for this consideration.”

Hannibal finds himself smiling in earnest. “You are very welcome Will. Thank you for speaking with me today.”

They clasp hands.

Will notes that Hannibal's hand is smooth, and his clasp collected with just enough pressure.

Hannibal notes that Will's hand is rough and callused, his clasp clammy with sweat but reverberating with inner strength.

Both note the feeling of electricity that charges up each others arms at contact.

Eyes meet. Sea blue to honeyed red.

Will pulls away immediately, unsettled. Hannibal pulls away calm, but inside he is hungry.

As Hannibal watches Will stride away he decides then and there, that he will be seeing Will again. Never in a long time has he had so good a time.

Will walks unsteady down the stairs, still feeling unsettled by his interaction with the man above. He feels as if he has been thrown about by strong waves and then suddenly left adrift. He almost walks straight into a portly fellow waiting at the bottom of the stairs, no doubt another applicant. Will side steps to walk around him but the portly man shifts his whole body in order to engage Will.

“How did your interview go? Did it go well? I'm soooo nervous to be applying for such a place as this but my friend once told me you never know unless you try! So here I am! I simply love cake! I think the chef will be happy with my knowledge. I come in here to eat all the time! My favourite is the cheesecake. Did you know there are soo many ways to use cheese in cake! Many people think its gross, but it's not! I assure you. I'm sure such a upstanding place as this uses only the best cheese. I'm sorry, my name is Franklin! What's yours?”

Will's whole body is stuck in stone at the man, Franklin's, over exuberant bombardment. Will blames the fact he is still rattled by his encounter with owner, chef, and manager Hannibal Lecter, that he is unable to react properly beyond a quiet verbal “Will.”

“It's nice to meet you Will!” Franklin shakes Will's hand without permission and help off Will at all. “I do hope you did well on your interview, though of course not too well!” Franklin winks at him, “Did you do well you think?” Will can only simply stare at Franklin.

“No, I don't think so.” Will eyebrows are once again scrunched together, flashing back on his interview. It was so strange.

“Oh dear. Well I'm sure you can learn heaps from this experience. Not everyone is set out for the baking craft! It takes that certain amount of flare. I'm sure both me and the chef....his name is Hannibal Lecter. Did you know?.....we're going to be completely in sync with each other. We both have that certain sophisticated _flare_.” Franklin puffs up and fixes the collar of his suit jacket. A blue grey pinstripe with vest and pale pink tie.

Overly enthusiastic and deluded to escape his own fears, Will has a clear sight of the type of person Franklin is. He latches onto one thing after the next like a glob of tacky glue you can't seem to get off of your finger, it simply gets stuck on each bit of skin in your struggle till you scrape it off on something else. He genuinely wishes him luck though. Maybe Hannibal would be more suited with a clear devotee.

“But here I go! Wish me luck.” And without Will uttering another word, Franklin clasps his manilla folder, no doubt containing his many credentials to his chest, takes an exaggerated deep breath, making his round body go up and down like a bounced beach ball, and starts to plod up the stairs.

Silver lining though, Franklin's sudden sticky impression has lessened Will's shock and he feels slightly less rattled. Resigned to the fact that he will be getting another scolding off Jack for screwing up the interview, he walks straight out the door of the _Boulangerie Antique_ letting the door bell chime low and angrily in his exit. Will never looks back. He can almost feel the dark stare of the whole place behind him. Will doesn't ever want to come back to this place ever again.

 

*****

 

_One week later._

 

Will did get scolded off of Jack for screwing up the interview. But it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. Mainly because he kinda waved the piece of paper containing _Boulangerie Antique_ 's information at Jack with all it's classiness and elegance, and then looked at Jack as if to say 'Well what did you think would happen knowing me as you do, and sending me to a place like that!?' Jack obviously saw the logic in that point and toned down the scolding.

Will however, was not allowed to think he had completely gotten off the hook. He was given another bakery to interview for, one day later. This one was more casual, and was run by a down to earth woman named Beverley. She seemed to generally like Will's rough manner and had a clear attitude of 'why the fuck not?'. So Will was given a job there, and another chance only under the rule that he would try and tone down his attitude with the customers. Beverley had said to him, “You can speak, swear, give shit, however you like in the kitchen. But I don't care how fake it looks, you smile and act pleased to the customers, they pay you.” Will couldn't argue with that, and he enjoys being around Beverley since she says things straight, and doesn't mince words. So this is how he finds himself, white apron wrapped around his waist, in his plaid shirt and jeans, taking orders and handing out cake in this small stereotypical classic looking bakery.

He knew something would happen eventually.

He was busking tables and clearing them for more customers, putting used plates and utensils in a large white tub for easy transport to the kitchen sink, when a group of three bumble through the door. He can easily feel their stench and rotten personalities from where he stands. Laughing uncouthly, what seems to be the main ringleader scrapes out a chair at a table and plops down unceremoniously. He is a large guy, no doubt used to using his fists and bulk to solve issues, his square jaw and large beady eyes look around with contempt. But Will can tell it is all a front. His friend, a weasel like cretin, laughs after him and finds a place opposite at the table of four. The seat next to the ringleader is filled by a slightly fuller figured woman, probably the ringleader's girlfriend. Clinging to his arm like Velcro, she would be pretty if it wasn't for her bleached blonde hair and thick make up of bright colour. It makes her skin look slightly sickly, and emphasises its imperfections in the act of covering it up.

Will has no inclination to serve these people. As an unspoken rule, most customer orders are taken by either Beverley or the only other waitress at the bakery. A lovely older mother of three, named Gail. Being a smaller bakery, it is never busy enough to warrant Will doing anything besides cleaning, or helping in the kitchen, mainly doing prep work.

Menu's are already in place on each table and the three look them over with very loud commentary and talk. Conversation consisted of whining on the weasel man's part on why they are there, and pleading on the woman's part that she 'heard' off her friend how good the place is. Then the usual airy overly masculine interjection from the ringleader, about the 'concession' he is making to be there with 'his woman'. The woman fawns and the man preens. The act is enough to fill Will's mouth with a sour taste, his forts banging shut in his mind like prison gates, to very quickly distance himself from these people. There is no way in heaven or more likely hell, that Will ever wants to connect with these people. Even by accident. He rushes in cleaning the table he is at so he can quickly vanish back to the kitchen. Of course, good 'ol Lady Luck spits on him again. The ringleader, Will has overheard the name 'Byron', looks around clearly searching out a staff member to bully. Will can tell his disappointment when he spies out Gail.

No pretty little thing to torment here and flirt at to make his woman jealous.

Too bad so sad.

Will does feel a little indignant on Gail's part who is still quite beautiful and striking for a lady in her mid forties, she holds the type of air almost all older mothers have. Warmth and matronly friendliness on one side, and 'no giving me a bullshit attitude' on the other. He can see why she and Beverley have worked together quite happily for 5 years now, while all other employees have come and gone.

But Gail is already with a customer at the moment. He can feel the oncoming dread building up inside him, and can already see what is going to happen next. Then behold, the guy spies Will cleaning up his table just a few feet away. Will wasn't quick enough.

“Yo, little man,” The guy bellows out in a forced loud voice, someone who clearly likes having an audience. “Can we get some service over here huh?” He clicks his fingers at Will then laughs stupidly, like it is the most funniest thing on earth. This is of course, accompanied by the added background laughing of his companions. Oh, to be content with the brain of a monkey, that being able to click your fingers at someone gives you such amusement.

Will can see that Gail has looked up from her customer with a worried furrow of her brows. Will gives what he hopes is a small encouraging smile and shakes his head. No need for her to rush over and save him. That being said, Will looks up and around the small store for Beverley. She would be able to handle these cretins better and more diplomatically than him. Either that, or she has the authority to kick them out unlike Will. He spies her all right. But what gives him a little heart attack and makes him freeze in shock, is the person she has obviously stopped to talk to.

None other than the chef, manager, and owner of the _Boulangerie Antique_ in all of his plaid suited glory.

Hannibal Lecter.

Will can see his amused smile at Will's reaction to his presence, as well as Beverley's wary look from the group of Neanderthals, to him, to Hannibal. What on earth Hannibal is doing here is beyond Will. But he never gets a chance to think about it further, as the lead Neanderthal in question has gotten irritated by what would have looked like Will's ignoring of him, and has begun to call out angrily. Will has no choice but to wipe his hands on his apron and walk over, taking out his barely used notebook and pen. He can see in his peripheral vision Beverley start towards him, only to be stopped by Hannibal placing gently his hand on her arm. He is watching Will with an eagle hawk eye. Will feels unhinged.

“Oi!! Little man! I'm a paying customer here! Why don't you turn that stupid head of yours ova' here and serve us, or do you need your momma over there to help you?” The ringleader says angrily, poking a finger at Will.

“Awww....Byron hunnnnyyyyy.... don't be mad with the poor boy. He clearly is one on those special needs persons. It's good of them to hire him. I spoke to Chelsey, a while ago. She said you have to talk slooooowwwww to them.” The woman's nails look like claws on Byron's arm. Will however, can barely keep himself from making an incredulous face at the woman's stereotypical thoughts. But the man was right in saying he is a paying customer. So Will schools his features to stone and makes a vow to push though this.

“What would you like today, Sir? Madame?” Will's voice is bland and level.

“Now, now now...no rushing at us special boy.” Byron's voice smug. “CAN...YOU...TELL....US...THE...SPECIALS?!?!?” He exaggerates loudly and slowly. The woman blinking up at him smiling forcefully, their other companion sneering.

Will can feel the twitch of a vein popping in his forehead. He only just manages to stop himself from glancing over to where Hannibal is still standing with Beverley.

“The cake on special today is the lemon meringue sir.”

“That's a sissy cake”

“It's a tart sir.”

“You being rude to me pretty boy?”

“No sir.”

So the discussion goes on, and after much slow and loud talk off of Byron, a “I'll have what he's having” off the other male companion, and after a lot of questions on if various cakes are 'gluten free' or 'have any fake stuff' in it, Will gets the threesomes orders and retreats immediately back to the kitchen. He can hear the insults of the two men behind him but pays no heed. As he walks back, he glances over at Hannibal who has an open charming look on his face as he speaks with Beverley. Beverley looks troubled, which makes Will 's anxiety go up. He wonders what they are talking about. Plus he isn't sure, but he thinks he spies Hannibal glance up and wink at him right before Will goes through the kitchen door. What is with that man?!? Does he have nothing better to do than to spy on Will? A snobby bakery to run perhaps? And Will is sure he is the reason Hannibal is here. He can feel it in his gut. It can't be about the job offer though, as Will clearly failed there. His mind plays back on the interview, as it has done numerous times in the past few days. More than Will really wanted it to. But then when has his mind _ever_ really considered his feelings on matters before messing with him? One particular phrase pops back up to the fore, 'It would be quite something to know you in private life.' Hannibal had said to him. Oh God, he couldn't mean that seriously? Will can only try and remember to not hyperventilate with the way his mind is moving. The idea of Hannibal reaching out to him is so incredulous, Will by accident, drops the plate he is about to place on the counter for the chef. Ignoring the glare the chef gives him, one of many he had earned so far. He quickly cleans up the mess and puts out another plate, two more following. Will still has no clear idea why Hannibal is here, and he doesn't want to know. Hopefully he will gone by the time Will goes back out, but judging by the uneasy tingle down his spine, he won't be so lucky. Will collects the two chocolate cakes and one strawberry sponge, and proceeds back to the threesome, steeling himself as he goes.

Hannibal is still there with Beverley. No doubt waiting for him to drop a plate if the smile he gives watching Will is any indication.

The threesome accepts their cakes without a thank you.

Byron doesn't even take one bite before he is calling out to Will, complaining about his cake. Will remains silent throughout the whole tirade. He can't trust himself to speak. He offers a fresh replacement or something else on the menu to the man when he is done talking, but Will knows when someone is on a power trip. He has seen it so many times before on perps. That glazed manic look in the persons eyes. As Byron continues to complain and insult the bakery loudly, he earns uncomfortable looks off the other three customers in the shop, and a worried look by Gail who has started to inch closer to Beverley and Hannibal. Hannibal, Will notices still holds a calm expression on his face combined with a small charming smile. But his eyes, his eyes hold a complete eagerness. Will likens it to a person watching a circus show just before the acrobat does a big leap. Will they fall? Will they make it? Will braces himself just in case Byron gets violent. He won't let Gail or Beverley be hurt. Will on the other hand, is used to pain.

Byron reaches his crescendo, finally knocking the cake in front of him off the table and onto the floor, demanding another 'better' cake, and to speak with the manager. Stupid idiot, Will comments internally. Of course he would knock off his girlfriend's cake in the end and not his own he spent the past 10 minutes complaining about. Will is about to turn to Beverley, when the woman companion turns to her boyfriend and protests. Her eyes glancing about the shop and taking in the disapproval of the other customers. Her embarrassment shown clearly.

It was the wrong thing to do.

Byron turns on her in an instant and gives her a quick knock on the side of her face with the back of his hand. “Shut up woman! I deserve to get what I want as a paying customer! It's your fault for wantin' to come to this shit place anyway.” The woman whimpers and puts her hand to her hit face, the other male companion watching with eyes wide but makes no move to interfere.

Will, on the other hand, sees red.

 

*****

 

_One week before._

 

 

Chiyoh doesn't think this is a good idea. She doesn't think much about Hannibal's decisions the past two weeks, but she accepts them nonetheless.

Hannibal isn't sure where to start. He doesn't want to be so uncouth as to simply call Will after their last encounter. No. Hannibal wants to look at Will once more face to face when he gives his offer to Will. He wants to see Will's reaction and every facial movement. Will has lovely facial symmetry.

Hannibal could hear the short conversation Will had had with one of the other applicants as he walked away from him. It pleased him to hear just how rattled their interaction had made him. His mind already clearly chaotic. Hannibal can still feel in phantom memory the spark and thrill that happened when he shook hands with Will the final time.

The minute Will walks out of his shop and Hannibal is done politely interviewing the rest of the applicants, he sets Will's resume to the side and gives the others to Chiyoh to make polite rejection letters to. He can tell she already knows something is up by the look on his face. Hannibal only responds to the inquiring raise of her brow, by a simple “I wish to employ this one.” Chiyoh nods her head in deference before walking away with all the other applicant forms. Hannibal can't quite explain this sudden drive. It is quite unlike him. But he has never been one to deny himself what he wants. Hannibal wants Will. He has no doubt that Will is part of his new design, what part exactly he isn't sure, but he is more than eager to find out. Over and over again their interview plays. Over and over, relishing each word spoken. He is more sure than ever that there is more to Will 's purpose in working at a bakery and he is curious to find out the truth. But first, Will has to accept employment with him. Hannibal smiles in amusement. It will be quite a battle.

He reminds himself of his little flicker early on and delves himself deep into his memory palace. It holds many rooms and places that he frequently visits, and then some he does not. Following the flicker he got in recognition of Will's manner and face, he brings himself back to a conference, and a lovely young woman with raven hair. He is sure he could confirm his new information after a little research.

Hannibal smiles. Though he is not one to believe in fate he can hardly excuse this happening for what it is. Oh the beauty of it.

Hannibal gives himself a little shake and a deep breath to steady his hunger. He prides himself in always being in control. Good things need to be savoured and dealt with in a slow considerate way, he remembers the lesson well from childhood. He moves straight to the kitchen, tying an apron around his still slim waist, and gathers his ingredients. Like a man possessed, he begins to bake. He takes special delight in mixing in his favourite secret ingredient, and he stands by the oven patiently the entire hour it takes for his masterpiece to bake. Hannibal doesn’t move a muscle. He watches the dessert rise and bake in torturous slow motion. He can hear Chiyoh outside serving the customers at the open window stall, she knows better than to come into the kitchen when he is like this. When it is done, he takes his creation out of the oven and moves it to the decorating table. There, he waits for it to cool slightly, considering his next move. In time, his hands elegantly and smoothly move over the cake. When done, he steps back with an expel of soft breath, his control once more perfect and his face calm and peaceful. On the table before him is a simple marbled cake of vanilla and chocolate. What is interesting is how it is decorated. The edges are surrounded by spun brown sugar, curly and soft. But the centre of the cake holds an almost perfect artistic rendition, done in various shades of black, and blue. A blue cerulean eye. So realistic, the craftsmanship and artistic talent shown here is top notch.

Hannibal stares at the cake.

Perhaps, if he looks hard enough, he can see the red of his own eye in the blue.

 

******

 

It only takes Chiyoh a week before she reports back to him that Will has currently taken employment with a a small but charming little bakery shop, called quite humorously ' _The Cake Shop'._ While Hannibal would have loved to go and search for Will himself, he knew Chiyoh would be less inconspicuous. He is a rival chef at what is now becoming a well known four star bakery. Add that to the fact that his business still needs to run with or without Will at present time, and Hannibal makes the decision to send out Chiyoh. Still, it takes almost a week before she finds him. Hannibal had guessed Will would be applying for more jobs at other bakeries. But when Chiyoh returns to report back to him a bit later in the day, he can see her frustration. Will, it seems, does not impress her one bit.

“Why him? He is clearly not competent.” Her annoyance showing in her tone of voice.

“I have my reasons my dear. I want Will to work with us and I will be counting on your support and teaching of him in the skills he lacks.”

Clearly a lot of lack, judging by Chiyoh's face.

“He already works for this bakery.”

“A situation that can be just as made to change, or be persuaded out of.”

Hannibal is not surprised to hear of Will's incompetence, but he can see beyond Will's lack of ability. Skills, can be taught easily to a sharp mind if you try. Hannibal is looking for that other something that can't be taught. Plus, baking is not Will's main forte, Hannibal reminds himself.

He knows of this other bakery, has met with the owner and fellow chef before, an admirable and strong woman named Beverley. They met a few times in the past at local produce markets, and were introduced first at a local bakery fair. He respects her well enough, and knows she is a logical thinker. She could be persuaded to relinquish Will to him if Will wants it. Especially if he is as unsuitable in work as he has been in the previous bakeries. Smaller bakeries tend to need the few workers they have employed to be the best, they can't afford a bad reputation in any way or incompetence for too long.

The next day finds Hannibal wandering up the main shop road, various shops on either side, and the light bustle of working individuals and school uniforms. Though he is used being amassed in large crowds, he likes that his own shop is slightly out of the way. The ambience that comes with less city life can be invaluable.

He stops outside ' _The Cake Shop_ '. The whole look of the place with it's pastel colours and classical retro chrome can be construed as charming he supposes. It certainly suits the shopping district road very well, yet unusual enough that it can stand out from its competitors. A bit of fake history to make the common voles feel as if they are a part of something special. But Hannibal has come for the diamond in the rough.

He can see Will's form clearly through the open and large window front, right through the scrawling lettering of the shop front name advertised. Looking between the gold words ' _Cake_ ' and ' _Shop_ ' Will is cleaning up the tables most likely from the lunch rush just passed. His hair is long enough that he has pulled it back into a tiny bunch at the nape of his neck, curls still unruly and defiantly popping up and out. The dark turquoise apron around his slim waist, a gold oval badge pinned to his plaid chest, no doubt informing customers his name. 'Will'....not 'William' Hannibal remembers fondly. Even cleaning, Will's movements have purpose, forceful, sure, in this is a mission, not a chore. His eyes don't look up from his table but Hannibal knows he is observing everything around him.

Beverley has spotted him standing right in front of the shop window. She gives him a look part pleased and part confused. Hannibal can have that effect on people. He watches as she moves around the old antique cash register, one he had in fact helped her find, and walks out the front door after a quick call out to an older female currently sorting out napkins by the counter. She moves aside to invite inside a couple who has wondered in at the same time and stands in front of Hannibal. The door bell happily tinkles as it opens and shuts.

“Hannibal Lecter,' she smiles, “It's good to see you again. When was the last?'

“I believe that was last months local fresh produce market. They were advertising the differing local honey farms.” He smiles genuinely at Beverley, accepting the hand she sticks out in front of her, slightly speckled in flour that always seems to stick to skin despite washing. The pains of a baker's life.

“So it was. I ended up buying a whole lot of Manuka honey that day. Good for old fashioned honey and oat cakes. They sold so well.”

Hannibal makes a appreciative smile and nods in acquiescence. “Yes, I bough a few pints myself. Nothing like fresh ingredients to works with.”

Beverley gives a knowing grin, her eyes sparkle with cheek. “Yes, well unfortunately some of us cannot _always_ afford to buy fresh day in and out Mr. Rich Baker.” Hannibal isn't insulted by this teasing prod, he is well known in the patisserie circle of his strict rules in using fresh ingredients in all of his desserts. Money is never a problem, so why not use only the best?

Beverley then gives him narrowed eyes and looks back through her own shop window, they can both see Will's figure moving around the table, giving it a final wipe before moving to the one next to it, a white plastic tub in his hands. Hannibal admires the strength in his muscled but wiry arms before looking back to Beverley who is now looking at him with raised brow.

“I take it you haven't popped in by a rival bakery's for a simply friendly chat and swapping of recent developments?”

Hannibal shakes his head slowly. He is glad he can just cut to the chase with Beverley and not be forced to play the tedious game of micro hints. Usually he finds amusement in it, but not today.

“I wish for Will to quit this place and come work for me at my patisserie.”

Despite her direct nature, even Beverley is taken aback by the sudden statement. She looks back to Will, then back to Hannibal. She doesn’t insult Hannibal by asking if he is serious, any fool can see he is.

“Why?” Beverley chokes slightly in asking and backtracks, shaking her head and blinking a few times. “ I mean....” she sighs, “I take it you know him?”

Hannibal nods his head once. “I do. He also came for an interview for a position I was making available.”

“I heard about that. It was all over the social gossip chain. The great Hannibal Lecter hiring for the ' _Boulangerie Antique_ '. You know some people quit their jobs to go and interview with you, thought the devotion would give them a leg up.” Beverley gives a snort of derision accompanied by Hannibal's rolling eyes. “Like that helped any, I know you. Plus it never works when _everyone_ does it all at once. Anyway, it pissed off a lot of bakers, especially when said workers came back begging to return to their jobs.”

Hannibal gave a insufferable sigh. “I am not at fault for stupidity. They should know better than to squander their careers on a possibility. I ended up interviewing over 40 candidates. I sent the reject letters almost right away.”

Beverley looks back again to Will. “So you want Will?”

“Yes.”

Beverley looked troubled. Hannibal knows it's not from the great desire to keep Will on as an employee. Even now his suspicions come to fruition as Will is seen tipping over glasses and fiddling with the table menu's, almost dropping his tub of used plates. Frustration clear on his face.

Beverley and Hannibal both look at each other, faces clearly communicating and confirming Will's lack of competence. Hannibal can see Beverley's confusion as well as a distinct friendly worry about the well being of a genuinely good guy. Hannibal's face softens.

Beverley sighs. “He isn't competent,' she states plainly, “I thought with practice and patience I could make it work. But to be honest I don't have the time nor the resources. There is just something about him that makes me feel like I should fight or flight. He has the aura of a old aged veteran who has fought a war and is now just trying to make it good.” Hannibal is impressed by this observation from Beverley. It is a very astute description of Will. “But he can barely look at anyone, even me.” she continues, “He seems twitchy all the time and distracted. His ability to know what a customer may want, and which ones may cause trouble is uncannily accurate. But he drops everything, can't really cook, and can't interact properly with customers.” She gives another heavy sigh. “I like him. I really do, but I know eventually I'll have to let him go like all the others. What I don't get is why he is here to begin with. Something seems off.” She looks at him suspiciously. “Now with you saying you want him at your four star shop, it makes me even more on edge. I don't believe it.”

So Will isn't fooling many, Hannibal muses. He gives Beverley an encouraging smile. “I have no bad intentions towards Will. In fact, my intentions are quite the opposite. Will is incompetent yes, but I do have the time, patience, and available resources to work with him. I think you can agree with me in saying Will is a very smart and unique individual, and I pride myself on the unique and often misconstrued as 'weird'.” He and Beverley share a light chuckle together, her eyes moving up and down Hannibal's suited 'everyday wear' with humour. “Let me take over all the worry about Will.” Hannibal's voice is calm and placid.

Beverley hesitates. “You know I don't think Will is telling the truth on why he is here.”

“Yes.” Hannibal confirms simply.

“Then why is he wanting a job at a bakery? He fixed all of my shaky tables you know? All the broken chairs and that cupboard. I asked if he did any work as a trade, but he just mumbled about it being a hobby. You know you can make a lot more money fixing things for people than what I could pay him here. You know what he said to me the other day after the chef asked him to try one of the new chiffon cakes? ' I don't really like sweets' he said. I don't like it when someone is obviously lying to me.” Beverley pouts.

Hannibal can fully understand Beverley’s dilemma. He also knows that Beverley is the type who likes things simple. Will is definitely not simple. She can see she is in over her head.

“I am well aware of all of it, or at least I have a very good indication that Will is not all that he seems. But in being completely honest with you as you have been with me, and having respect for you, I will simply state that Will has piqued my interest. My reasoning is that any fool can be taught skills necessary for cooking, and confirming again with you, I have those resources aplenty. But what I want from Will is that something more. I want to see if I can cultivate it and let it grow, I wish to see what may come out of it. So I implore to you again, let me worry about Will. Let him work for me.”

Hannibal can see he is gaining ground with Beverley. The fact that they have met before, and Beverley can attest that he is of a 'decent sort' as he remembers her saying of him last time they spoke, has assured her that she is not sending a good man to work for a slave driving, snobby and harassing French _arrogant petit homme_.

Their interaction is interrupted by a sixth sense of incoming danger. A group of three individuals, all rough and loud come sauntering down the street and hustle themselves inside the shop. Beverley grimaces in pain while Hannibal purses curls his lips in disdain. Chiyoh often deals with unruly and rude customers in his patisserie before they even take a seat. Hannibal cannot abide by the rude, and will not tolerate it in his place. He makes note of them however, as their purpose may not be to dine in his patisserie, but rather help elevate it in more ways than one. Beverley tilts her head towards the door, inviting him to continue their conversation inside. Hannibal nods, all at once excited by the prospect of Will seeing him there, and wondering how the man will react and deal with his presence. As they stand just inside the door, Hannibal winces in sympathy for Beverley as the loud bunch noisily make unwanted opinions known. Beverley rolls her eyes at him in response but soon turns wary when the three call out to Will as the other serving woman is with another customer. Will noticeably looks up and around from his current task, no doubt to look for Beverley when he spots the two of them. His shocked reaction and widened eyes is delicious. Hannibal gives an amused smile. As Beverley makes a move to Will's aid, he calmly puts a hand softly on Beverley's arm. He wants to know how Will is going to react to these pigs. He wants to see just a small peek of what Will truly is, and what better way is there to see the truth than through adversity? The whetting of the sword against stone as it were.

He watches intently as the three rude pigs belittle, antagonise, and rudely make nonsense of themselves. Their very actions and behaviour make Hannibal's upper lip fractionally lift in complete distaste. Will however, seems to take it in stride. To anyone watching he would appear indifferent, even somewhat distracted. His eyes focusing on spaces in between and on the rims of his glasses, which Hannibal has already deduced is not really needed medically. Hannibal also notices how Will's eyes flick back to him and Beverley. He is pleased by this, as Will, despite the high probability that he will deny it, seems as drawn to Hannibal as Hannibal is to him. He notices with amusement the vein of annoyance and the beginnings of anger popping on Will's forehead, as his continued labour with the pigs goes on. Will does well in controlling his manner, as he answers the groups questions and soon has their order in hand. Hannibal can hear Beverley breath a sigh of relief as Will slowly turns his back and scurries quickly to the kitchen. Hannibal only vaguely hears her muttering, “Well I suppose he does have some sense left in him. Is this what you were 'seeing' Hannibal?” But Hannibal is only half listening to Beverley speak. His focus on the retreating figure moving towards the double door kitchen. He watches as Will can't seem to resist glancing back at Hannibal one last time. In turn, Hannibal can't resist giving a smile and a wink to the man. He doesn't see Will's reaction. Turning back to Beverley, he leaves the smile on his face.

“I see potential Beverley. Will is much more than the sum of his parts.”

“I suppose so.” Beverley hums in agreement. Then a look crosses her face that almost makes Hannibal want to breath out in annoyance. “Well if Will is capable of being proficient after a time indefinitely. I see no reason why he shouldn't keep working for me. I mean he is a handsome rugged sort.” Beverley's cheeky grin flashes at Hannibal, but his annoyance at Beverley's drawing out of Will's employment must show a little on his face for she immediately goes rueful. “I'm not trying to pick on you or anything Hannibal,” her hand reaches out to rest lightly on his upper arm, “I just don't see why Will is so important to you. You have such a high star patisserie, way above my own standard, and I'm not daft or woman enough not to admit it.” She smiles at Hannibal's polite nod at her acknowledgement,.“I just want to know the truth. Above all the potential lark and shit, and around all the 'I will take the troublesome worker off your hands', I know enough that you're not the saving grace type Hannibal. There is a real reason you want Will. Tell me straight and I'll give you my blessings, that is if Will agrees anyway to join you. He seems the type to thrive in disagreeing.” her voice dry.

Hannibal gives a happy huff of agreement with Beverley, then considers her solemnly. This is why he has continued in his acquaintance with her. Above all the skittering bakers that wheedle and scam to rise to the top, Beverley has always been straight and narrow. He can respect that alone.

“He intrigues me.” He simply states.

“You're attracted to him.” Beverley counters, eyebrows raised and mouth open in surprise.

“In a way perhaps.” Hannibal's voice is slow and each word sounds as if it has been pondered on for hours before. “I look at Will and I see something underneath, something stirring, seething. I am. Curious.”

Beverley looks at Hannibal in alarm, at the faint show of deep hunger underneath. If she were speaking to anyone else she would've asked Will to leave right away, leave town and change his name so he doesn't get stalked by an obsessive psycho. But Hannibal 's quiet reassuring, and sheepish smile back at her alleviates her melodramatic fears a little. This man seems to have it bad. There is only one conclusion

“You know,” she says in a wry tone, “Workplace relationships can be a bitch.”

They both chuckle at that.

“I am well aware _demoiselle_ Beverley. However I remain stead forward in my mind. I wish for Will to work for me. I feel I can break open his unique potential that lays dormant. Surely you can tell that there is more to him.”

So melodramatic this man. She can tell that there is more to him, whether good or bad she doesn't know and the simple fact was, she didn't think her small bakery, nor herself, are capable of undertaking Will.

Hannibal watches the expression of annoyance and troubled dismay that crosses Beverley's face. He need not fight for Will much longer.

Beverley looks up at Hannibal and purses her lips in a 'well it can't be helped either way'. “Even if I want to keep him, and despite the restraint and such he has just shown there with those kankerblossoms, the fact is that it doesn't cover for his work since he started. He's had customer complaints about his anti social behaviour and it is making some of my loyal customers feel awkward. Perhaps he needs more guidance than I can give him. Maybe getting a better offer with you will be better than being fired when I finally have to let him go.”

Hannibal does his best to give her his most realistic reassuring smile.

“You can be rest assured that both of us have Will's best interest at heart.”

They both stop and turn towards the opening kitchen door as Will walks back through. He slightly stumbles which makes both Hannibal and Beverley wince in mutual fear of plate dropping, but Will manages to get all three plates to the table in one piece. The female occupant makes a high squeal of joy as the cake placed in front of her that begs her to take lessons from Will's silence, while Hannibal is already thinking up practice training exercises to help Will gain better balance carrying plates. His eyes devour Will's face, the way his eyebrows come together in concentration and distaste, and his shadowed jaw. He thinks Will looks quite becoming and masculine this way, but is curious as to what he would look like clean shaven and smiling with red around his mouth.

His thoughts are disrupted by Beverley beside him. “I will miss him however,” she says with genuine sadness, “He is a character, and I've kind of gotten used to his sense of humour. It's clear he has no experience with the art of baking, despite his past employments. It was rather refreshing. You know the first time he was helping in the kitchen he asked where I got my larger metal mixing bowl from? You know the one with the special split down the centre for helping to mix ingredients more slowly and naturally?”

Hannibal raised his eyebrow in inquiry.

“He told me it'd be useful for when he mixes his dogs food,” she continues with a mock shake of her head, “That bowl is specially designed and the first thing that comes to his mind is that it could be useful for mixing dog food. I didn't know whether to be insulted or give him the bowl for free! He actually looked rather pleased and excited. The poor chef looked like he was going to have a hernia.”

They have a shared chuckle.

“I'll have to note though that he does have a bit of a feminine side.” She gives Hannibal a saucy little wink. “I bought those little edible string and flowers at that wedding cake fair last autumn to use for a customer's order. Here we are, me and Gail, trying to figure out how we are going to go about this, when we notice Will sitting on one of the stools fiddling with something. We look closer and he's made this cute little bouquet of flowers with the string. We were all completely gobsmacked! When we asked him about it he told us he makes fishing lures at home. We were going to try and get him to help with the decorating in future as he seems to have a good eye, but he was hopeless at using the instruments. Too heavy handed. He told us he fixed boat motors in his spare time, so it makes sense. He's fixed our old stove a fair few times too! Spared us a pretty dollar.”

Hannibal is both surprised and excited to hear this information off Beverley. He absorbs every bit with hunger. It is clear that very much like a cake, Will appears to be layered in complexity. Oh, Hannibal would love to be the one to peel back each layer one at a time and see what resides underneath. Will definitely intrigues him.

“Well perhaps I can assist Will to gain a more delicate touch, either that or use his skills to better advantage.”

Beverley looks at Hannibal with a knowing eye. “You are really really taken with him aren't you?”

Hannibal simply gives her a small polite smile, which make Beverley hold her hands up in mock despair. “Okay, okay, I give.” she says with a chuckle, “Take him if he will go to you.” Her good humour then turns serious and a little sad. “ Not sure how I want to tell him though. He kind of looked like a sad tired puppy before, when I hired him. Not sure how to not put him on the defensive when I say I'm letting him go for you.”

Hannibal considers Beverly, she wants to stay friends with Will after this movement which he can understand. He will try and make this better for her, simply for the point of it would be good for Will to have added links to the baking world not negatively derived. It would make it easier for him should he ever go with Hannibal to any fairs or conferences. Will would look good in a suit he thinks. Plus he has no qualms playing the role of a bad guy, he smiles to himself. Something happened in their interview and he is as certain as he can be that Will felt it as well. A certain link. Already Will has surprised Hannibal finding himself smiling all the more whenever he thinks of the scruffy man. He looks over at the individual in question and delights in the way Will almost like magic, glances quickly over at him again. Will's whole countenance is soaked in irritated frustration as the leader of the pigs has not surprisingly started to complain about his cake, and is gesturing wildly, earning the uncomfortable looks off of the other customers. The other female waiter, Gail, he remembers her name, starts to move towards him and Beverley, the latter who has stiffened, tensing her body in ready to intervene and no doubt toss the man and company out the door. Hannibal feel's entranced. He can almost feel the darkening danger that seems to surround Will. He recognises it almost like a wolf recognising the scent of another. Will's outward form screams anti social squirming but deep down Hannibal can see the slight tightening of Will's shoulders, the glances he throws at the people around them, staking out their position. A wolf prepared to strike if need be. If pushed.

The crescendo happens as the large man knocks down the cake in front of his woman companion onto the floor, and demands to speak with Beverley. The cake squished and the plate rings from the shattered chip or crack it no doubt has sustained in its fall. His piggy eyes catch and move towards Beverley who is half way across the room, shoulders back and brimming with female powered confidence. Hannibal watches as Will breaths a sigh of inner relief at being able to relinquish the power of the situation to Beverley, his shoulders sinking back down. Hannibal feels a stab of disappointment as the wolf recedes., He need not however, as the man turns towards his female companion who has started to appeal to him in a nasal voice, her embarrassment showing clear in her red face and twitchy strained grin and eyes. He can hear them man's response clear, “ Shut up woman! I deserve to get what I want as a paying customer! It's your fault for wantin' to come to this shit place anyway!” He is not surprised by this deplorable rudeness, but even _his_ upper lip sneers at the sheer disrespect shown by the man as he spins his head to his companion and slaps her. Beverley stops shocked in her tracks only a metre from the table, Gail puts a hand to her mouth in female sympathy, while Hannibal's mind flicker's on certain food preparations and dishes. This thought process is very quickly and abruptly brought back to the current scene like a siren call, as he captures Will's whole body suddenly stand on attention as if he were just struck by a lightening bolt. He can see the pure righteous anger radiating from Will's every pore, and he watches with happy joy as Will very calmly and very powerfully, almost elegantly, steps towards the man, eyes flashing, to grasp at the hair on the back of his head and with a resounding smack and splat, slams the man's face down onto his plate and into his cake. Will then lets go and steps back, and Hannibal watches his chest as Will pants slowly and deeply. It took less than five seconds. The whole room goes silent in that drop pin way that rooms go after people have seen a shocking scene.

Hannibal however, for the first time since childhood, wants to burst out in inhibited laughter.

 

*****

 

A majority of people know how it is when all of a sudden your body moves seconds before your cognitive thought catches up to it, and recognises what you are about to do. They say you are helpless to stop yourself. It's as if you are a mere puppet in your own physical form. Something deep down has taken a hold of you, some deep inner motivation that reacts almost like the speed of light. You have over fifty billion neurons in the human brain alone, and there is a reason we still cannot fully comprehend just what we may be capable of and why we do certain things. Will has had many out of body experiences, part hallucinations, loss of time, and times where his mind has been so chaotic that his body has moved on its own volition. He also acknowledges the purpose of muscle memory, a very good thing to obtain if you work in law enforcement as he has. The instinct to react to external stimuli in that fraction of a second sooner which can save lives. Combine all this with the fact that even at a young age, if his father had ever taught him anything, it was the deep routed foundation to respect and cherish the woman of the world, further enforced by the quick hands and tongues of the older auntie figures present in Louisiana, where he had had childhood. You can understand why Will acted the way he just did when he saw Byron put a hand to his female companion. You can easily explain it and even make it out like Will was a defender of justice.

Unfortunately. This wasn't one of those times.

Will hated the man the moment he walked into the bakery. His rudeness and pathetic hotheadedness making Will nauseous and irritated. Like slime in his mind. So when Byron did what he did Will was very aware of his actions, quick as they were. His mind coming to a conclusion in a split second.

Will saw it. Will hated it. Will did something about it.

In a more crass term. Will's thought was 'Fuck it'.

So here he stands, panting deep from the sheer power and speed he has just utilised, still very well in control of himself, and well aware of the fact that he has probably just been fired. He can sense the still shock of the world around him. For some reason he probably doesn't even want to comprehend, he almost immediately flicks his eyes away from Byron now swaying upright and with a face caked in chocolate, towards where he knows Hannibal remains standing, looking at him. He spies Beverley's wide eyes, and in his peripheral vision Gail, with each a hand to her mouth and chest, but his focus is on Hannibal. Turmoil fills him at what he sees on the face of the other man. He expression like a child at Christmas after he opens his present and finds out mum and dad gave him that new toy after all. Will feels torn between that mutual joy at realising someone has connected with you as much as humanely possible, and understands what you did without words, and feeling disguised that he has just acted rather violently and he, if his empathy is correct and he is reading Hannibal correctly, seems to be on the verge of joyfully exclaiming as if they are a devotee and Will has just preformed a miracle.

He is brought back to the consequences of his current behaviour, as Byron has now cognitively comprehended what Will has just done to him, and as most men like him does, reacts with uninhibited rage.

Wiping the mushed cake off of his face, the brown sugary chocolate stained by a red dash in the middle of the man's forehead. Blood. Most likely from the cracked plate where the cake had been placed. Will wonders just how hard had he cracked the mans head to the table. An idea that would usually fill a good man with guilt over the hurt given. All Will can think about is the fact that the man must be very hard headed to not be knocked out or reasonably stunned for a longer time from it. Byron spits and wipes more of the cake off until it no longer impedes his vision. Will's eyes glance towards his companions. The woman has her hand to her mouth much like Gail and looks terrified. The weasel man, Will still doesn't know his name, glances gleefully between him and Byron, now glaring with the devil in his eyes at Will. Giving a suitable cave man roar of “ YOU LITTLE FUCKING PRICK!” Byron leaps at Will with reaching clenching hands.

Why do all neanderthals always try and attack someone by screaming their intentions first? Will will never fully comprehend it. A scare tactic most likely. But such will never work for Will, his mind is apart from the average Amercian male. Full of dark whispers of individuals many times far deadly and crazier than this man Byron will ever be. But beyond that.....beyond that....a surging darkness always present in Will. His own seething writhing shadow. The one Will always tries to keep locked and forgotten in the deepest corner of his mind. So as Byron hurtles the short distance towards him, Will's eyes simply narrow as deep in his head he can hear a faint distant howl like a wild wolf.

He bends his knees and his whole body tenses at a ready.

 

*****

 

Hannibal doesn't think he has ever seen anything more beautiful than Will at that very moment. Tensed, a dark call that seems to ring out towards Hannibal's very soul. Again he is sure of his thoughts, the man Will is much more than he says. Like must wed like or so they say, and Hannibal is sure he will never meet one such as Will again in his lifetime. His whole reaction to Will is rather alarming and makes Hannibal uncomfortable despite himself, but he is nothing if not adaptable. He will take it all in his stride, and calmly observe as always.

He watches hungrily as the rude man wipes chocolate blood off of his face.

_Hmmmm....possibilities there._

Then with a roar, lunges for Will with all the anger in his possession. Hannibal watches as Will's eyes narrow, no fear present on his face, and holds his whole body ready. With a move as smooth as silk and graceful as a very deadly ballerina, Hannibal watches as Will first nimbly steps to the side around the lunging man and knees him in the gut, ducking under his grasping arm. Will's eyes remind him of a watchful wolf, a predator. Recovering rather quickly from the knee to the stomach, Hannibal suspects over adrenaline, the man spits saliva and residual cake at Will.....

_Disgustingly rude_

…..before pulling back a beefy arm and taking a swing at Will. Will blocks with his arm and skilfully thrust downwards with his foot, kicking down at the man's knee, at the same time almost Will rotates his hand to grasp at the man's outstretched wrist and using the momentum, turn the man's whole body down and around. The ending result shows the man spitting and screaming abuse at Will while on his stomach on the floor, Will with his knee to the middle of the man's back, the man's arm stretched behind him while Will locks his wrist holding pressure.

Definitely law enforcement level , Hannibal thinks amused. He has clearly done this before.

Beverley seems to have snapped out of her shock as she slowly approaches Will.

“Will......?” her voice voice low and calm but slightly trembling. She gets no response as Will continues to try and hold subdued the struggling swearing man. She turns to Gail.

“Call the police.”

“No need.” Will's voice is slightly wavy from exertion holding the man down who has since stopped struggling against the painful hold and is simply swearing his head off at Will. Hannibal watches with awe. Will's assertive management of the situation and the slight blush to his face is rather attractive. Though it takes Will four times in an attempt to speak to the man before he gets through, between verbal ' BASTARD', 'PUSSY', 'FUCK', and 'LET THE FUCK GO'. Hannibal wonders where Will will go from here. He hears him say finally to the man, “I think you are done here sir. Now I'm going to let you up in a moment, and you are going to gather you're little friends and leave this nice establishment and not return. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yeah yeah, fuck man get the fuck off me!....”

Will's eyebrows narrow before he slowly releases the man before him. The woman companion rushes straight to the floor, kneeling with hushed worry and fluttering hands. Hannibal can tell the man isn't going to go quietly. One confirmed look at Will tells him he knows the man isn't either. Too full of himself, too full of hurt pride. The man rotates his shoulder for feeling before pushing the woman back to sprawl on the ground, and rushes once more at Will.

Hannibal watches again as Will's body moves with strength as he sidesteps the man once _again_ , kicking him in the knee _again_ , and the man goes down with a painful howl. Will steps nimbly behind him and gathers him in a choker hold, one arm behind the head cupping its side, the other across the man's throat, elbow forward, cutting off the man air supply. Hannibal eyes are burning at the sight as Will slowly chokes the man to silence, bodies sliding down, Will 's eyes narrow, eyebrows furrowed, the man's eyes bulging, face red and gasping. The world seems to dim around them, and he can only faintly hear the woman companions shriek, the other males shocked call of alarm, and Beverley's scared cry of 'Will!'.

The latter seems to startle Will out of his determination as he suddenly looks up to Beverley, before looking down once more and fully registering that the man he is holding onto has gone limp. He lets go and the man slumps to the floor. Hannibal watches as Will brushes off the woman's hands who has once again scrambled forward, and checks the man's pulse with disinterest.

He is still alive.

Will seems to step back then. His whole body withering into himself as he becomes aware of the attention of those around him, and his own actions. Hannibal is saddened to see this. Will should not be feeling ashamed, his actions were glorious. The rush of the situation just passed still hums within Hannibal's body. He feels the liquid adrenaline of such a viewing still make his heat pound and breath come slightly more difficult. But what alarms him the most is the rich heat, much like a burning oven that seems to pour out of his centre, giving him a slight flush to his cheeks and warm throb throughout his body. He will never let Will go.

Beverley has since taken control again, ordering Gail to call the police, a command Will doesn't this time intervene with. She then reassures customers, placating them with a coupon and no charge on their current purchases. The whole place moves and surges forward again, as if time has suddenly begun again and life restored, the game continued. But Hannibal can't stop looking at Will. The man now has the aura of complete embarrassment and uncertainty, eyes down, shoulders furrowed. He holds his hands in front of him shaking, as if he cannot believe they belong to him. Hannibal is delighted however when he finally looks up over the bustle to catch on him. Hannibal doesn't try to hide himself. The room dims and a charge seems to flow between the two of them once more. Hannibal looks straight again into eyes of liquid stormy blue, watches as Will's eyebrows furrow even more in confusion. Hannibal knows Will will see no condemnation here. He is delighted by the slight hope that then comes to light and twinkles in Will eyes as they flickers over his features, looking for potential judgement, and finding nothing. The message is clear:

 

_See me?_

 

*****

 

Will feels a little stab of fear when the police arrive. He doesn't want the hassle of a cover blown if they discover that he is really an FBI special agent, masquerading at a bakery and assaulting customers. They take his and everyone's statement. Hannibal is a calm and comforting figurehead. He talks quite happily with the officers for a while giving his statement, before speaking a quiet good bye to Beverley, who looks at him first with confusion, then surprise, and then with relief, before smoothly walking out the front door without a backward glance. Will feels completely bewildered by the man. His very presence there and the watchful looks his way suggest that he _wanted_ to find Will, and Will is pretty sure he _did_ wink at him before, which suggests he wanted _something_ off of him. Though what _exactly_ Will hasn't the foggiest clue. It could be he was simply here to speak with an old friend in Beverley. Bakers tend to circle around each other much like any other job faction. But Will can't shake the feeling that it is much more than a mere coincidence. But be that as it may, he was so going to get it from Jack later. He had royally fucked up. Lucky for Will though, the man, Byron, much to his relief, held a criminal record and past grievances for assault and being a disruption to society. This case was a shut and close. Will explained actions due to 'martial arts training', and only felt only slightly miffed as the bigger, taller, and muscled policeman taking his statement gave him a glance up and down, taking in his wiry frame and shorter stature, before accepting his excuse and moving on. Gail wouldn't look him in the eye. Beverley kept throwing guilty glances at him. He knows what will be coming next after the policemen leave. Funny enough, he finds himself wanting, but definitely not wanting, to see Hannibal again. He gives another mental shudder at the memory of Hannibal's expression after Will had released Byron the second time. Will had suddenly felt completely appalled by his actions, a complete one eighty compared to how he had felt when he had decided to confront Byron at the beginning. But looking up, Will had seen only approval in Hannibal. Well there was that, but also something more....hungry as well which had roared to the surface of the other mans face. A slight glimpse behind a polite society veil. In that moment, Will wasn't sure if Hannibal had wanted to fuck him, eat him, or simply pull him back and watch him go. But what disturbed Will the most, was his own reaction to that look. The answering plea to not be seen as some kind of insect stuck wriggling on a board. He had looked to Hannibal with....hope. That maybe he didn't have to put on an affront with him. Someone that might actually like _him...ALL of_ him. Will gives himself a complete shake. This is ridiculous. He was _not_ that desperate for companionship. He had his job, his home, and his dogs, and that's all he needed.

_That's all he needed..._.

Time went by and after another two hours everything was right again. Everything except for Beverley's face, as she tilted her head towards the kitchen doors. Will gives a quiet heaving sigh and follows her.

Ignoring the chef as he moves through, they both stand out back to where the deliveries are collected and where Beverley has her smoke breaks. She turns to him with one look, and Will gives her a sad understanding smile. He has genuinely liked working for Beverley, but hers is a small bakery and has a reputation to protect. Though she might understand his actions, others may not.

“I'm sorry Will.”

Will shook his head and shrugged. “Been there, done that. It's not the first time, as you saw on my resume.”

“Got a badge yet?” her voice teasing.

“Not yet.” he snorted.

“I'll find you one.” Beverley's voice is soft, and Will feels a surge of gratitude and happiness at the underlining message behind the statement. A future referral. Beverley wanting to keep in touch with him voluntarily, after he has left.

“I should give you one anyway. Will Graham, a fighter for women's rights and feminist role model for the modern new age man.”

Will chuckled. “I'm no hero. Just a shit stirrer it seems.”

“You know I would keep you on if I could. I have to say it.”

“I know.”

They exchange look of mutual understanding and camaraderie before Beverley suddenly looks at him with a sly eye. “I wouldn't be too depressed though. You know what they say about one door closing.”

Will is not sure what to say to that. Beverley's smirk tells him she knows something he doesn't, and would most likely not tell him about if he asked. Will isn't sure he can deal with more drama right now. Nevertheless, him and Beverley part on happy terms, a very unexpected but happy result considering his past dismissals. With a promise to come by and visit next week, he makes sure to apologise and sooth Gail who still seems a little shaken. The chef he doesn't bother with. They never liked each other.

Stepping outside a building after an incident like that, putting it behind you feels freeing. Scary, but freeing. He shuffles his jacket over his arm, and the small bagged box containing a whole cake Beverley literally threatened him to take with him home, before glancing at ' _The Cake Shop_ ' store front once more, then beginning his stroll to the public car park where his car is. He has walked no further than seven steps before a calm and purposefully neutral baritone calls out “ _William,_ ” in an accented voice he knows he could never mistake.

Will stops rigidly and with great effort turns around.

_Hannibal Fucking Lecter_

 

*****

 

Both men observe the other.

Will with mild irritation and confusion; Hannibal, with open amusement and calm enjoyment. Will assumes that Hannibal has been leaning on the small brick ledge waiting for him to emerge. Hannibal straightens his posture to its tall elegant height, not to intimidate he knows that won't work on Will, but simply because he is proud of who he is. Will on the other hand is not pleased to see Hannibal. He was looking forward to nothing better than going home to his dogs, and drinking himself to oblivion before he faces Jack tomorrow. Maybe he won't even dream. Unlikely. But Maybe. He considers Hannibal before him, who seems perfectly happy to simply stand there and look upon Will with a small smile, to take in the other mans grumpy stare. Hannibal is indeed willing, he has nothing pressing to do as the bakery is being dealt with by Chiyoh. He has all the patience in the world to wait for Will because at the end of their current situation, Will will be working for him. He will have it no other way.

Will scowls and takes off his glasses, polishing them with hurried quick movements. He knows he will not win the waiting game with this man, so when he puts his glasses back on his face, he squints his eyes before saying the first thing that comes to his head. He could never abide not getting to the point.

“You followed me here didn't you?” his voice dry.

Hannibal's eyebrows raise, he had a feeling Will would be direct. This pleases him.

“Yes.”

Will looks at him with narrowed eyes. Hannibal can tell he wants to see behind his perfectly constructed, polite society person suit he wears like a second skin. Only age, practice, and experience probably keeps Will from seeing beyond.

“Why?” Wills' voice is low, and has a slight melancholy tone to it, a rumble of rough wild. Hannibal must tread carefully here. Too much of a direct manner may be answered with in kind. An eye for an eye, tooth for tooth. Will has a predator inside that only Hannibal can see.

“I wished to speak with you after our previous encounter. So I simply looked into it, and assumed correctly that you would be looking for work in a patisserie elsewhere. I was correct.”

Will can't fault Hannibal's logic there. It was clear as day that Will had wanted a job in a bakery. He probably reeked of desperation, at least that's what Beverley had happily told him when she had hired him.

“Please don't tell me you went out of your way to find me because you wanted to keep true your threat to know me in, and I quote you, _private life_?” his voice full of derision and scorn.

“It was in no means to be taken as a threat.” Hannibal's voice is soothing baritone, and doesn't react at all to Wills' brash accusation. “Although it would indeed be interesting to know you that way William, I came because during the short time we spoke, you interest me. You stood out from all other applicants, and I have a great appreciation for the potential that can flourish from those who are unique.”

“Are you mocking me? I don't like to be mocked Mr. Lecter.” Will knows for a fact that he was in over his head when he had applied for a job at Hannibal's patisserie, and it was a patisserie, not something so mundane as a bakery.

Hannibal tilts his head slightly. “On the contrary, not at all William...”

“Will.”

“But of course.” Hannibal nods his head in acceptance, delighted that Will in his irritation, is still conversing with him despite himself. “I would apologise but something tells me I would be apologising again soon, and you will soon get tired of it. So then I must use my apologies sparingly. Or perhaps we could act like adults, heaven forbid we should become friendly.”

“Let's keep it formal. I don't find you that interesting.”

Hannibal's smile widens slightly.

“You will.”

Will is confused, his face scrunched, and he can feel himself pulling back from this individual. An animals sense to pull back from the strange thing with the strange scent and look. He opens his mouth to say something, but Hannibal intercepts smoothly as if he had never stopped speaking.

“I would like for you to work for me at the ' _Boulangerie Antique'_.” He stands straight with his hands behind his back and waits, letting the words sink in.

Will blinks. Of all the things he expected to come from Hannibal, this wasn't it. His first thought is a straight and immediate 'No', because well, a lot of reasons. But Hannibal doesn't seem to be teasing or lying to him in his request, something about him tells Will he wouldn't do that. _It'd be too rude_ , the comment floats to the fore in Will's mind. _Why lie when the truth can be that much more fun?_ Shaken by the impressions coming to him, he again feels adrift. It takes all of Will's willpower to speak more calmly than he feels. His minds reflects back on the event just happened, and Hannibal's face once more as he put Byron down.

“You would hire me despite what you just saw me do to that man at _The Cake_ Shop?” The minute he said it Will knew it was a rhetorical question. Hannibal would and wanted to hire him despite it. Hannibal too realised it as rhetorical as soon as the words left Will' lips, but looked further into Will's need for anchorage and reassurance.

“What you did to that rude man was minor and understandable. I abhor rudeness, and find it unspeakably ugly to me.” _Rudeness_. Will was right. There was also a slight hint and threat under that statement Will immediately recognised, and again it made him wonder what Hannibal wanted with him, as he has already proven himself less than eloquent and polite at the best of times. But Hannibal continues, “He was a threat to the bakery and to the occupants inside. It is my belief and no doubt yours as well, that he would have simply gone onward to cause havoc elsewhere if not stopped by you here.”

“I still could have controlled myself better, a professional would have.” Will needed to keep a hold of any bit of morality he could.

Hannibal tutted at him. “Again I assure you, any other individual, professional or otherwise would have acted in kind to that man. Combined with your empathy, I would say you displayed a very admirable sense of control. You could have killed that man. Many have killed others for less.” He added the last with a small knowing smile.

Will snorted. “You are being melodramatic _sir._ ” but he could not help but draw his mind back to the incident, his sense of power and complete control. He knew what he wanted to do. No, he has to shove that back, these dangerous thoughts.

“Perhaps.” Hannibal gives him a considering look. “Human emotions are a gift from our animal ancestors, cruelty such as the rude man displayed, is a gift humanity has given itself.”

Well he had Will there. If Will knew anything about people in this world, it is that they have a great capacity to be disturbingly cruel to their fellow man.

Hannibal understands completely where his mind train has gone. “Anyone with the capacity for great empathy has the capacity for even greater cruelty. You are not cruel William.”

“Will.”

Hannibal can hear a slight lighthearted amusement in the correction this time. “Be that as it may, if you want a reason better than me understanding why you acted how you did, I will adhere to your sense of chivalry. I have another employee, a dear old friend Chiyoh. She works for me as well, and it would relieve me greatly to know that I have employed someone that could handle the more, _rambunctious_ customers that try and cause trouble at my establishment. After all, the ' _Boulangerie Antique'_ is getting rather popular as of late.”

This was definitely a good excuse, Will could not argue there. He is still sceptical, and all his past attitudes still try and convince him to politely decline as the place is still high end, and not suited to him. He raises his eyes which have found its way to the cement floor once more and glances at Hannibal. The man is standing there all serene and smiling, as if he has all the time in the world to wait for Will to make up his mind. There is something about him that is niggling at Will, like an itch he can't scratch. Within the space of two face to face interactions the man has made him flip around on his head. Yet he can't get over the sense that Hannibal understands him on more than one level, more than anyone else has ever even attempted to. This makes Will raise his metaphorical hackles. If things seem too good to be true, they usually are. The polite decline is on the tip of his tongue and he even gets to open his mouth a little, before his mind flashes back to his nightmare. He has had the same one for days now, dead boys with smoking cake filled mouths. Will can't forget that he has a duty to them first, to help find their killer and to stop the abductions and murders.

_They're just little boys._

He doesn't want to fail them.

_Like he failed her._

He can see her out of the corner of his eye. Smiling, always smiling. Her beautiful dark hair slightly waving in the wind. Blood still covering her top. The one he failed. Her eyes speak to him, encouraging him. Regret is such a bad, yet effective motivator.

The possibility right now to work at a higher end bakery, and get a more wider suspect clientele is more temping than he can say. Whether he likes it or not, there is a rising trend for those higher up on the socioeconomic field to be criminals. Having the money, time, and the arrogance, to think they will never get away with their actions. In saying so, Will just can't let this opportunity pass. Even if he only lasts a couple of weeks at most, which he is convinced of. Hannibal can't put up with his surly hide forever. Looking back up at the man who is still waiting patiently with an open face at him, showing all the makings of a patient saint in a suit, Will can't help the slight doubt that slivers through.

_Maybe a month to last then._

If anything, it would make the blow from getting fired again a little better on poor Jack.

Hannibal has watched as Will's face gives off the most intriguing micro expressions. At one point he was sure Will's stubbornness would get the better of him, and he would decline out of slight spite, a thing would have aggravated him to no degree. But then Will appeared to have thought of something, dwelling on it a little. Hannibal would love to know what exactly is going on in his head. Will's seemingly desperate mysterious drive to work at a bakery has surely worked against him here. Nevertheless, Hannibal maintains his posture of patience and humility. Not long now, he has almost won the fight, the first of a wondrous battle he wishes to participate in. Will Will be a good dance partner in this? Hannibal wants to find out.

Will gives a deep inner sigh. With no better prospects and reoccurring nightmares, he can't say no. Maybe Hannibal knows it too, he certainly doesn't seemed surprised when Will suddenly mutters.

“Yes.”

Hannibal cocks his head to side. “You will take up on my offer?”

“Yes.” Like signing off his soul to the devil. Will can't look at him.

Hannibal's smile is big and full of glee. Now he can begin.

“Then I look forward to working with you William.” Hannibal holds out his hand.

His words get the response he is after, and Will immediately looks up again, automatic correction only forming as a 'W' on his lips before dying away. Honeyed red earth and stormy sea meet each other once more, and a crackle of energy fills the air.

Hannibal is delighted. Will is on edge.

He clasps his hand to Hannibal's. The grip is strong, but not painful. Skin on skin.

As he lets go Will dismisses the idea that he felt a slight stroke on his palm from Hannibal's thumb.

“Please be at my shop at 6:00 am sharp on Monday, we have employment forms and such tedious administrations to sort out before you can start work.” Hannibal is once again standing with his hands behind his back. Will gives a nod.

“I'll be there.”

There is an awkward bit of lingering that comes from one party member not being completely sure if the conversation is truly finished, then Will turns and continues on his way to his car with a muttered “Bye then.” Will is glad Hannibal said Monday, as it gives him tomorrow and the weekend, to sort and prepare himself and speak with Jack.

Hannibal watches Will's retreating form with a great sense of satisfaction. He is looking forward to Monday. He turns and glimpses Beverley who has no doubt seen the two of them through the clear shop front window. He gives a happy smile and nods in reverence to her through the glass. The message is clear. Hannibal won. He watches as Beverley rolls her eyes upwards in mock exasperation, but a clear joyful smile is on her face. She goes back to tending papers at the counter. Hannibal walks calmly, faced raised, taking in the good weather and sun, as he walks back to his black Bentley to return to _Boulangerie Antique_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The finished chapter ended up being soooo much longer than I had anticipated. But i'm lazy and didn't want to separate them. Other chapters will be just as long I think.


End file.
